


decembers and dreams

by bigbraveboop (orphan_account)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anastasia (1997 & Broadway) Fusion, Angst, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, I came up with this. And here we are, Other, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, THATS RIGHT ANASTASIA AU, The Antarctic Empire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28029585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/bigbraveboop
Summary: ❝"You’re telling me that you think I'm Prince Wilbur? That's crazy, you're fucking crazy.""Is it that unbelievable? You don't know anything about you-""-And nobody knows what happened to him."❞↳ It's kind of hard to imagine yourself as the prince of The Antarctic Empire when you're lying in a hospital bed with no clue as to who you are.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 27
Kudos: 190





	1. prologue

Grand balls in the Antarctic Empire were just that: grand. Gigantic dresses that  _ swished _ and  _ poofed _ as the people wearing them danced, and lovely music that wafted around the ears of all who heard it. A great crystalline chandelier reigned above it all, casting light on the nobles and royalty who celebrated in joy. Silver, blue, grey, lavender. These were the colours of the Antarctic Empire.

Within the heart of it all, three boys danced together, varying in age, but connected by their heartstrings. They intertwined, and they were family.

Wilbur was the eldest, and a silver crown rested upon his brown curls daintily, as if it belonged there. Likely because it did. His hand was clasped in his youngest brother's, Tommy, and he drew the boy up to his chest for a moment, before pushing him away to the middle child. If you asked anyone but their father, the favoured.

Tommy and Techno too wore crowns of silver, fitting well on their heads of blonde and pink. Techno caught Tommy with a snort, and pushed him into the centre of their little circle. Tommy was laughing all the while, the giggles turning into shrieks as Wilbur attempted to snatch him up again.

The ballroom felt the loss of their emperor, Phil, but he had to go. Important business in France, Wilbur knew. A subconscious hand rose to a necklace around the eldest’s neck, a song playing in the back of his mind as he did.

“Together in Paris…” Wilbur whispered to himself from where he stood, staring at Phil’s usual position in the ballroom, before turning back to his brothers. 

“Pictures! Pictures, you three!” A man called the boys over, and they, together, walked over to the photographer. They posed together, smiled together, and let the man take their photo together in practiced perfection.

_ Click, flash! _

The first one was taken, and they blinked at the light of the shutter. They changed poses.

_ Click, flash! _

They did this again. They changed position again.

_ Click-  _

_ Bang! _

The sound rang out around the ballroom, muffled, outside. It bounced off the walls, the tapestries. The boys three did not let go of each other, walking forward hesitantly.

Glass broke, a window, and a brick was thrown in. Then another.

_ And the world went mad _ .

Screams rang out, as did shots, bangs, and the boys three raced after people they recognised, whoever they were. Through the halls of their beloved palace they raced, breath coming short in panic. 

The youngest, a boy of only 12, stopped short suddenly.

“The music box!” He shouted at his brothers, before turning tail towards his bedroom.

The eldest protested, gasp cut short as Techno gripped his hand. Wilbur pushed him away, orders to  _ run _ echoing in the middle son’s mind as he dashed.

Wilbur sprinted after Tommy, into Tommy’s bedroom, where the boy had taken their gifted music box, their little bit of their father, and held it clutched in his hand. 

“Tommy…” Wilbur hissed, taking him up into his arms. He fussed over him for a moment, and his head whipped to the side at another bang.

“Wil…” 

“I know, Toms, I know, it’s gonna be okay.”

A hand gripped the eldest’s cloak, and he almost screamed, but stopped short at the sight of the hand’s owner. A boy with ram horns, their age, held the blue tightly. His eyes were as fearful as the brothers own, and began to lead them quickly towards a wall.

“This way! The servant’s quarters are this way!”

He opened the wall, and they didn't hesitate.

The music box lay discarded as they left. They didn't stick around to see the fate of the horned boy as he was cracked over the head with a gun, a box just within his reach.

They didn't stick around to see the fates of anyone they ran past, and Tommy couldn't stick around to see the fate of his brother as he was pushed into a crowd of waiting nobles as a shot sounded.

The screams rivalled the sound of the bang. 

\-------------------

“All of them?” The emperor, the father, Phil, asked, and his breath hitched at the solemn nod he received. He shook his head in heartbreak, denial, and collapsed to his knees. He didn't register the feeling of arms around him until he was sobbing into a shoulder.

The letter, discarded by it's reader, lay on the floor.

_ Emperor Philza, _

_ It is with a heavy heart that we inform you that your sons... _


	2. of cons and lullabies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❝ “What's this about, Schlatt?” Connor huffed, leaning on the clothes.
> 
> Schlatt turned to him from where he’d been staring out the window. “We’re gonna find Wilbur Watson.”
> 
> Connor blinked. “We are absolutely not finding Wilbur Watson, that's the stupidest thing you've ever said." ❞ 
> 
> ↳ two men come up with a con, and an orphan wanders alone

“Did you hear? Apparently, Prince Wilbur didn't die during the revolution!”

“What? That's insane! It's been 10 years. How old would he be now, 23?”

“About that, I think. They didn't find his body, and pretty much everyone thinks he survived. Even his dad, and he's in Paris!”

Connor blinked at the words he overheard with an interested raised eyebrow. He hurried through the crowds of people living in the snowy town. Connor shoved his red fingers in his pockets as he walked, hissing at the bite. It  _ was _ the Antarctic, to be fair, but still.

_ Dream couldn't have made the whole place a little warmer when he took over, couldn’t he? _

Connor shook his head, stopping when he felt the thump of a hand against his arm. He turned to see his good friend Schlatt leaning against a stairwell railing. Schlatt smirked at him, quickly beginning to walk alongside Connor.

“What’ve you heard?” Schlatt asked, breath coming out in tufts of fog in the air. 

“People think Prince Wilbur’s alive. Philza is apparently offering a  _ fuckton _ of money to get him back.”

Schlatt stopped, his eyes wide. “No shit…” Schlatt murmured, and then his mouth split open in a grin, “I have an idea.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, “And that is…?”

Schlatt shook his head. “Not here. C’mon.”

The two ducked inside a curtain-covered entryway, to a quietly hustling and bustling market. The hot topic of the day? The Watsons. More specifically, Wilbur Watson.

“Paintings here! Watson exclusive! Only costs an iron nugget!” 

“ _ Real _ fur-lined cloaks here! Wilbur Watson himself could have worn one!”

Schlatt turned to Connor, who was now trailing behind him, “Get everything this guy could have owned. I have a  _ very _ specific idea, and we’ll need everything we get.”

Connor did just that, getting a good look at everything Watson and paying for whatever he thought could have been Wilbur’s. 

Admittedly, there wasn't as much as there could have been. But, if Schlatt said he needed whatever he could get, Connor was gonna get it.

So, here Connor was: lugging furs and cloaks and tunics and the like up chilly stairs as he made his way up to his and Schlatt’s shared apartment.

Finally bursting in, he immediately dumped his findings on the couch.

“What's this about, Schlatt?” Connor huffed, leaning on the clothes.

Schlatt turned to him from where he’d been staring out the window. “We’re gonna find Wilbur Watson.”

Connor blinked. “We are absolutely  _ not _ finding Wilbur Watson, that's the stupidest thing you've ever said. You don't even know if he’s alive!”

“Correction: Phil doesn't know if he’s alive. It doesn't matter if he is or not. I propose,” Schlatt whipped something out of his pocket: a tiny music box, silver and blue, with tiny ingraved snowflakes, “we find him.”

“...Okay, Schlatt, I still don't know what the hell you're saying.”

“God- okay,” Schlatt rolled his eyes, pressing his fingers in between his eyes, “I say we find someone who looks enough like him and teach him to be Prince Wilbur. Then: profit!” Schlatt let out a laugh, looking far more excited than he should.

“You wanna lie to the ex-emperor of The Antarctic Empire? And expect to walk out of there alive?”

“He’s a desperate father, he’ll believe anything. We'll have no problems.” 

Connor sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment, and counted to ten, and then opened his eyes again, “Okay, fine.”

Schlatt smiled again, bigger, and crossed his arms, “Fuck yeah! We’re gonna get  _ rich _ , Con! Can you imagine? Then these schmucks will have even  _ more _ to talk about! Two people from their town found the prodigal son, the long-lost prince of The Antarctic Empire!”

“You're genuinely way too excited about this and it's freaking me out, man.”

“Shut the fuck up. Hey, hey- you see this box?” Schlatt presented the box again, tapping it with his finger, “This was his. Wilbur’s. I worked at the palace, okay, I know what it looked like and this is the real deal! We show this to the Emperor, he’ll believe us for sure!”

“Sometimes, I really wish I’d left you to die in the revolution instead of helping you.”

“You don't, actually.”

\------------------------

The Empire, or what was left of it, was rather cold.

Wil noted this subconsciously, shoving his hands into his brown coat pockets. The chill bit his fingers, so his fingerless gloves did nothing to quell the cold. He bit his lip as he trudged through the snow, snow falling into his hair. 

He huffed, pushing his hair out of his eyes with his breath.  _ Dream ran this place, yeah? So he couldn't, I don’t know, add a bit of warmth? Just a thought. _

Wil didn't know a lot about Dream, in fairness. Just that he had a lot of power, and he overtook the people who lived here once. Wil didn't know much about them.

Wil didn't know much about anything, really. It's hard to know a lot when the last thing you remember is waking up in a hospital bed and the nurses naming you ‘Wil.’

The nurses and the doctors told him he was found by the side of the road. They asked him what he remembered when he woke, and he couldn't give them an answer. 

Wil had been discharged a few weeks later, and he’d quickly realised he had nowhere to go. He was a boy. He worked, he lied and he took and he  _ survived _ .

And throughout all that, one thing was constant: No matter where Wil looked, no matter where he went, he always heard pained, terrified screams and the feeling of two hands in his. The phantoms had a grip like iron, but he held steadfastly, as if to protect the poor souls who’d attached themselves to him. 

Wil wanted nothing more than to be rid of them, but they called to him still. They licked and grasped at his mind, whispering, wanting more, wanting him to know all. Wil wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.

There was more, too. A lullaby. Played on a music box, yes, but the lyrics too. Wil couldn't quite place them, but they rang in his head nonetheless. 

And as Wil rounded over a hill to stare at the newly established town, city that lived below, the song played on repeat again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Dont know  
> this could either be really good or really bad im not sure lmao  
> thank you for your support on the last chapter!! i live to please !!  
> hope you enjoy this one !!
> 
> \- elisa <3


	3. of theatres and palaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❝Finding people to impersonate a prince shouldn't be as difficult as it was.
> 
> “It's me, father! Your son, Wilbur! They thought I died during the revolution but I lived!”
> 
> Schlatt raised his eyebrow at the boy on the stage, who had thrown his arms out as he said his words. The boy made eye contact with him, and then threw his arms down.
> 
> “I’m not an actor.”❞
> 
> ↳ two men try to find their lost prince, and an orphan finds a palace

Finding people to impersonate a prince shouldn't be as difficult as it was.

“It's me, father! Your son, Wilbur! They thought I died during the revolution but I lived!”

Schlatt raised his eyebrow at the boy on the stage, who had thrown his arms out as he said his words. The boy made eye contact with him, and then threw his arms down.

“I’m not an actor.”

“Wow, no way, I never would have guessed!” Schlatt dryly remarked, scratching this boy’s name off of his list. He and Connor sat at a table in front of a stage. The stage was in a theatre. It was an old one, cold, like everything else. 

People willing to pretend to be a prince were harder to come by than previously thought. 

“You're free to go,” Connor waved his hand, leaning back in his chair with a groan. The boy stormed off the stage, muttering about wasted opportunities and “

‘taking an entire day off work, and for what?!’

“That was the last one, Con. We gotta clear out.” Schlatt said, crumpling up the sheet of names and throwing it into a corner somewhere. He whipped the keys to the theatre out of his coat pocket, dangling them in front of Connor’s face.

“I knew this wouldn't work out.”

Schlatt rolled his eyes, “It’ll be fine. We just gotta work for it. We’ll have our Wilbur.”

They locked the door to the theatre, and Schlatt linked their arms together with a smirk. Connor shoved him away, barking out a laugh and Schlatt shoved back.

“Where are we- no, no, fuck off, do  _ not _ shove me again!- where are we going?”

“The old palace. Hoping to get the ghosts of the Watsons to help.” Schlatt rolled his eyes, the lilt of his tone indicating the true meaning behind his words:  _ it's cold, the palace is warm. _

“The old palace it is.”

\------------------------

“I’d like a ticket to Paris, please.”

“Got an exit visa?”

“Exit visa?” 

“If you don't have an exit visa, you're not getting a ticket.”

Wil jumped as the window was slammed in front of him, biting his lip and turning his head. He jumped again at the feeling of a hand tapping on his shoulder. A woman clutched her cloak with one hand, and held his shoulder with the other. Her eyes were narrowed, and her shoulders were hunched. 

“You want an exit visa? You wanna get out? Go to the old palace, and find Schlatt. He can help.” she looked around for a second, scanning for… something. She seemed wary, but also seemed to not find it, so she turned back to Wil with a quick hiss, “You didn't hear it from me.”

With that, she darted away, into the crowds of people who waited at the train station.  _ The old palace. _ Wil sighed, and then turned tail out of the station. He walked on, through the streets. He shoved his hands inside his coat, shivering. 

Finally, he stood in front of it all. The palace. Belonged to the royal family once. He wondered absentmindedly what happened to them.

He slid inside easily, scanning around for anyone else. Alas, there was only empty space. Still, the empty space didn't feel very empty. It felt alive. Or rather, like it should be alive. 

Wil wandered into a grand, big room. The ballroom, it must have been. The ballroom felt eerily familiar. One of the windows was broken, and Wil could almost hear the smash. There were portraits on the walls, but Wil didn't pay much mind to them. He brushed his hand over tables and tablecloths, and the music of a lullaby played in his head.

“Hey!”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah this one isnt my best work  
> this bit is mostly filler with a little bit of plot at the end  
> and sorry its so short!! motivation is hard to come by sometimes.
> 
> \- elisa <3

**Author's Note:**

> YEP.  
> I DID IT.  
> LOOK AT HIS  
> HAHA MULTICHAPTER FIC  
> fun :)  
> yeah, if you couldnt tell, this is an anastasia au. there is gonna be 0 romantic plot line though, shipping real people's nasty.  
> anyway! hope you enjoyed!
> 
> \- elisa <3


End file.
